Diversion
by Rochelle Templer
Summary: No one is infallible. Unfortunately, Mike has to learn this the hard way...
1. Chapter 1

Diversion

 **Author's Note:** This fic takes place during Alias Micky Dolenz.

* * *

Mike wasn't expecting much to happen that day.

Yesterday, the guys finished playing a series of gigs in a row over the last two weeks. The money they had earned made it possible to catch up on their bills, put some food in the cupboards, and still have funds left over. That morning, Davy left for England to visit his grandfather, who had put up the travel expenses for him to come. As a result, Peter, Micky and Mike decided to relax until Davy came back. Granted, they would need to be frugal so that they could afford to not work for a while, but they were all quite familiar with ways to live and have fun while spending little to no money.

Mike leaned against the wall and strummed a series of chords on his guitar, frowning at how they sounded. Peter had gone with some friends to spend the day on the beach, and Micky had taken the Monkeemobile to run a couple of errands. The Texan thought that when Micky got back, he would go to get his guitar looked over at one of the music shops close by. Mike had gotten to know the owner over the last couple of years and had done him some favors. As a result, the owner had a standing offer with him to do any minor repair or maintenance work he might need on his blonde Gretch free of charge. Mike didn't think there was anything major wrong with his guitar right now, but figured that preventative measures were almost always better than waiting around for something truly bad to happen.

Decision made, Mike packed up his guitar and sat it on one of the chairs so that it would be ready to go when the drummer got back. After thinking about it a little more, Mike decided to invite him along. Micky loved to visit the store too, and once they were done there, the two of them could go and grab a hot dog or something.

The Texan plopped onto the lounging couch and sprawled out on his back to wait. Only a couple minutes later, he heard the sound of the Monkeemobile pulling into their driveway, the tires screeching as it came to a halt. He quickly jumped up to meet Micky, a lecture already forming in his head. He had told Micky more than once to not to pull in like that and expected another excuse from the drummer as to why he did it.

What he didn't expect was a very jittery Micky Dolenz to come dashing in from outside. The drummer slammed the door behind him and leaned against it.

"Micky?"

Micky's entire body jerked violently, his eyes wide, as he moved further inside. Mike walked over and clasped his shoulders in an attempt to calm him while noting that Micky was trembling.

"Micky? Mick, what's goin' on?" the Texan said in the most relaxed tone he could manage. "What's the matter?" Micky grabbed at Mike's arms.

"Mike!" he gasped. "Has anyone been here?"

"Been here?" Mike repeated. "No, of course not. You know that Pete won't be back until evening, and that Davy's not due until…."

"No, no not them," Micky said, pulling out of Mike's grip. "I mean, has anyone been here, you know, looking for me?"

"No," Mike drawled. "Why? Are you expecting someone?"

Micky said nothing as he crept around the pad. He opened up doors and peeked into rooms, looked out the window several times, and even searched under chairs and inside the fridge. The drummer was usually energetic and was frequently in motion during his daily routines, but this flurry of activity was anything but normal. More like high-strung and frightened.

"Micky…."

"Are you sure you haven't seen any mean-looking types hanging around here?" Micky continued. "You know, straight out of a gangster movie? You know, with the hats and pin-stripe suits and, and the tommy guns hanging out of the side of the cars. Although I never did get that. I mean, all those times the gangsters were shooting at each other out of cars and you never see the cars just like die from the bullets. They never hit the gas tank or the engine or, or anything that could make the car go 'boosh' and totally conk out, you know. Nope they always drive away, tearing down the road…."

Micky continued to babble away, his voice getting higher and more strained as he went on. Soon his movements became increasingly animated as well as he searched every inch of the pad. After only a few moments of this, Mike strode over to block Micky's path and took him by the shoulders.

"…and, and why do the cops never look for the cars with the bullet holes, huh? Couldn't they just do patrols around the neighborhood and when they find the cars that look like Swiss cheese, they can call it in and…."

"Mick," Mike said, firmly but gently. "What is goin' on?"

Micky abruptly stopped talking in mid-sentence. Then he shook his head while lowering his gaze. The Texan waited for Micky to speak for several moments, but Micky did not make a sound. Mike couldn't decide if he was more irritated by a chattering Micky or a silent one, but his annoyance was kept in check by the way that Micky shivered in his grasp.

"Mick, talk to me," he tried again. "Are you in trouble? 'Cause if you are then you need to tell me so I can fix things."

"No, no," Micky said, shaking his head. "You can't. I don't want you to get…. I mean, nothing's wrong, really. It, it was just a stupid mistake. It had to have been. Just a stupid mistake."

"A mistake? What mistake?" Mike asked, puzzled. "Micky, are you sayin' that….?"

The Texan's words halted when he noticed something when Micky shook his head again. He leaned closer and put a hand under the drummer's chin, tilting his head up slightly. Micky flinched, but did not pull away. Mike then brushed some of Micky's hair aside to reveal a cut on his forehead. It was only a small line of red, less than an inch and barely bleeding, but it was enough to awaken Mike's anger. He looked the drummer over even closer and found a small bruise near the back of his head.

"Micky," he said, his voice much harder than it was before. "Did someone do this to you? Is that why you were wonderin' if someone had been here? Are they after you?"

"Mike, I, I don't, I don't want you to…."

"No, Mick, listen to me. This ain't a question of whether or not I should get involved 'cause as far as I can see, it's too late for that. So you need to tell me what happened so we can figure out this thing, all right?"

Micky hesitated, and Mike had begun to prepare another argument in his head when the drummer finally relented and nodded his head. Mike guided him over to the couch and sat him down before going to the kitchen. There he got an ice pack and wet down a paper napkin laying on the counter. He took both over to Micky, carefully pressing the pack against his neck and wiping at the cut on his forehead.

While Mike tended to him, Micky explained what had happened. He told the Texan about how he had parked the Monkeemobile and was about to go into a store when he was approached by some stranger who acted like he knew him. A stranger who then proceeded to whack him with a newspaper over and over again. The cut on his forehead had been from a knob on the guy's watch hitting him just right.

Mike listened to all this silently, his expression grim. From what Micky had told him, it sounded like this guy had confused the drummer for someone else. Usually these types of mistakes were nothing more than odd or funny inconveniences, but this was far more serious. Whoever it was that Micky was being mistaken for must not be very well liked by people from distinctly shady backgrounds. Even more disturbing was the fact that this guy got away which meant that it could happen again…or it could involve people who would not be satisfied with just hitting Micky with a newspaper.

Chilled by both of these possibilities, Mike immediately started to persuade Micky to go to the police so they could report what happened and maybe get some idea of why it happened in the first place. Unfortunately, Micky was more than a little reluctant to go."

"I'm telling you, Mike, it was just a mistake," Micky insisted. "He didn't mean to go after me. It was supposed to be somebody else."

"Yes and what if he makes the same mistake again?" Mike countered. "What if someone else does? What if someone decides that just roughing you up and then leaving you alone ain't enough?"

Micky paled at those words, the trembling returning. Mike really did not want to scare Micky again, but he was determined to get the drummer to understand why going to the police was so important.

"Hey, don't, don't worry now," Mike said, placing a hand back onto Micky's forearm. "It'll be ok. I'm sure that guy won't be back any time soon. And you said that you haven't run into anyone else who thought you were some other person, right? So maybe it is just this one guy, and maybe you won't ever see him again."

Micky fiddled with his fingers in his lap, his expression still doubtful. The Texan moved closer to him and put his other hand onto one of Micky's shoulders.

"I ain't saying that something is goin' to happen. But it still could happen at some point. And I don't, um…it would be better if we did something now, just in case, before it's too late."

The drummer still looked unsure and Mike wondered what he should do or say next. Before he could make a decision, however; Micky lifted his head and nodded.

"Ok Mike. I, I guess we should let the cops know…."

* * *

After that it was a quiet ride over to the police station.

Mike loaded up his blond Gretch into the back seat. Once they were finished at the police station, he figured that he would take Micky with him to the music store like he had originally planned. Mike hoped that the distraction would help Micky get over his encounter from earlier.

During the ride over there, Micky kept his eyes firmly fixed on his lap, his hands fidgeting constantly. Occasionally, Mike patted his shoulder to reassure Micky who seemed grateful for the touch. However, as soon as they arrived at the station, Micky became hesitant again. It took a lot of persuading to get the drummer out of the car, and then Micky still acted like he wanted to leave as they walked toward the entrance.

Doing his best to hide his exasperation, Mike got his guitar out of the back and tried again to convince Micky to go along with his plan.

"Micky, you've got to go in and report this," the Texan insisted. "Do you want to promote violence on the streets?"

Micky shook his head and even Mike had to admit that the words sounded hollow to him. Nevertheless, Mike persisted in his efforts until he was finally able to convince Micky to accompany him inside.

Unfortunately, things did not improve inside the station. In fact, they got worse.

The cops on duty apparently made the same mistake that the guy Micky ran into did because as soon as they saw the drummer, there was panic and plenty of running around. While they were able to convince the policemen that Micky was not this mysterious "Baby Face" who they thought he was, Mike was even more concerned that Micky was in real peril from anyone else who might mistake the drummer for this Baby Face person.

Even worse, instead of offering to take a statement, putting Micky in protective custody, or even giving any assurance that Micky would be safe, the detective in charge immediately started to pressure Micky to impersonate Baby Face as part of a sting operation. Mike was infuriated that this cop would encourage an untrained civilian, and more specifically his best friend, to put himself into such a dangerous situation. Still, for a moment, Mike was just as worried that Micky would be impulsive enough to consider doing it.

However, when Micky looked over at him with a mixture of fear and reluctance, Mike was marginally relieved. Micky clearly didn't want to do this either, and Mike made sure that Micky knew that he did not like the idea at all. That turned out to be all the incentive Micky needed to firmly reject the detective's plan. Not that that stopped the cop from continuing to try to push Micky into going along with his idea. Eventually, the detective gave up, but not before using one last scare tactic.

"Baby Face's got a lot of enemies out there," the cop mused. "A guy with a face like yours is liable to get hurt."

Mike thought about reminding the detective that it was his job to find Baby Face's gang and enemies and to keep Micky safe, but thought better of it at the last moment. Right now, what mattered was finding a way to protect Micky until this blew over.

The Texan's brows furrowed as he watched Micky walk out of the station. Davy was staying in England for two weeks which just left himself, Micky and Peter to think about. Mike figured that the best solution would be to get out of town for a while. He then remembered that his Aunt Kate had been wanting him to visit her in Texas. It would be a long drive, but her place was far out in the country and would have plenty of room for the three of them to stay there. A part of him was reluctant to possibly get his family involved in his problems, but Mike also knew that Kate would urge him to come once he told her the situation.

' _Besides that, if we pack up quickly and leave in the middle of the night, no one's goin' to know where we went,'_ he told himself. ' _We could stay with Aunt Kate until Davy comes back. That should be enough time for the cops to catch this gang and then we won't have to worry about it.'_

Satisfied with his plan, Mike hefted up his guitar up closer to him and started to look for Micky. The Texan scolded himself for letting Micky get so far ahead of him, but figured that the drummer was probably waiting for him in the car. He was about to head out the door when a policeman held out a hand to stop him.

"Hold it," the man said. "Hand it over."

"Hold it? What do you mean, hold it?" Mike demanded. "What is this?"

"Let's see that case," the officer said, motioning at Mike's guitar case.

"This?" Mike said, holding it up. "This is just my guitar. Why do you need to…?"

"That's what you say it is," the cop interrupted. "But how do I know that you haven't got something stashed away in there. Like a weapon. Or maybe even some illicit substances. Could be almost anything in there."

"Now wait a minute," Mike drawled. "This is ridiculous. The only thing in there is a guitar. Dig?"

"So you keep saying," the cop responded. "But I've got orders to search it. So hand it over."

"Orders? Whose orders?" Mike asked.

"That's none of your concern. Now, are you going to cooperate or am I going to have to arrest you for obstruction?"

"Hey, hey now hold it," Mike said, raising his hands. "Now look, I don't have time for this. I've got to catch up with a friend of mine."

"Your friend can wait," the officer said. "Now, what's it going to be?"

Mike glared at him. He didn't want to waste time with this, but couldn't see any alternative. He handed his guitar case over to the officer who took it away down a nearby corridor. Mike followed him, questioning him every step of the way with few results.

"How long is this going to take?" the Texan finally asked.

"As long as it takes to get a thorough search done," the cop answered. "Why? You anxious to get somewhere?"

"Well no, not exactly," Mike said, scratching his head. "But I would like to catch up with my friend. You know, the one who's still waiting for me?"

"He'll be just fine here at the station," the officer said. "Now, how about you turn out your pockets as well? Just so I can be sure that I haven't missed anything."

"Hey, wait a minute," Mike said, indignant. "What, um, what right have you got to do this? I don't remember seeing any search warrant or anything like that."

"Reasonable suspicion," the cop replied offhandedly. "Of course, if you are so concerned about your rights and want to make this official, I could oblige you."

"Yes, I think I might prefer that," Mike said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Of course that will also mean that I will have to put this case into our evidence locker and have you put into holding until we can get a lawyer over here to clear this up. I hear that they are pretty busy at the courthouse these days. Could be hours before we can get someone over here. Unless you have your own attorney on retainer."

Mike scowled even more. He did not like the direction this situation was taking and struggled with his frustration as he tried to decide what to do. He also didn't trust this cop and was anxious to get out of here so he could get Micky and Peter packed up and they could leave town.

"All right, all right," the Texan grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

"I thought you might see things my way," the cop smirked at him. "Don't worry. This shouldn't take too long. That is, as long as you've got nothing to hide."

The frown on Mike's face deepened as he reached into his pockets. Not wanting to antagonize the man any further, he kept his bitter thoughts to himself.

Instead, he would do what was necessary to get this over with as quickly as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

Diversion—Chapter Two

The cop opened up the guitar case and proceeded to search over every single inch of space inside with a meticulousness that Mike never dreamed was possible. The policeman then started to search the guitar itself, to which Mike protested loudly. Eventually, the cop allowed him to go over the nooks and crannies himself while making sure that the officer could see what he was doing.

Then the cop examined everything that had been in Mike's pockets with the same molasses-like slowness. Then the policeman shocked Mike by insisting on frisking him. It was difficult, but Mike managed to bite back the angry retorts that were on the tip of his tongue while the officer patted him down. He had not, however, been able to remain quiet when the cop implied that he might want to force Mike to submit to a strip search. There was a brief, heated argument which, thankfully, ended with the officer changing his mind about that possibility.

Throughout all of this, Mike's thoughts kept going back to Micky and his worries over the drummer's safety. He tried to console himself with the thought that there were few places in Malibu that were safer for Micky right now than a police station. All the indignities he was putting up with were worth the knowledge that Micky was out of danger for the moment.

At one point though, Mike started to question this idea when he heard a muffled noise that sounded like gunfire ringing out. The sound made him flinch and duck behind a desk.

"It's nothing," the cop quipped, not even batting an eye. "Probably just the guys practicing at the range."

"I don't know," Mike said as he slowly crept out of his hiding place. "That sounded like a lot more than a couple handguns goin' off."

"You know, if I were you, I'd worry less about what's going on somewhere else and be more concerned about cooperating with the police officer right in front of me."

Mike scowled again, but continued to hold his tongue. He was determined to do whatever it took to get this over with quickly and without any complications.

Eventually, the cop finished with what he was doing and then with no further explanations other than a suggestion to "keep his nose clean", he sent Mike on his way. Thoroughly irritated, Mike stomped back toward the main squad room to look for Micky.

Several minutes of searching later, however, Mike was forced to admit that he could find no sign of the drummer anywhere. His brows furrowed, the Texan took one last stroll around the station before heading outside to check the car. However, he was even more confused to find the Monkeemobile empty and exactly where he had parked it.

Mike frowned as he stared at the car. He hadn't actually expected Micky to have taken off without him, but Mike had fully anticipated finding Micky there when he hadn't seen any trace of him in the station. Soon, confusion gave way to fear as Mike started to think about the reasons why Micky could be missing. Then he thought back to that moment when he thought he had heard gunfire and wondered if it could be related to Micky's disappearance.

Mike took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. He reminded himself that there was no blood or any other signs of violence outside, so it was highly unlikely that Micky had been hurt when those bullets had been fired. Still, that didn't mean that the gunfire couldn't have served another purpose. Such as scaring Micky into hiding. Or coercing him into doing something against his will…like allowing himself to be captured and taken away.

The Texan swallowed hard and took an unsteady step backward. This Baby Face person might be dangerous and have a lot of enemies, but Mike still found it hard to believe that these enemies would be brazen enough to kidnap someone right in front of a police station. At least, Mike was pretty certain that they wouldn't. Not with an entire police force looking for anyone connected with Baby Face and his gang.

Anxiety spiked inside him as Mike sped back into the police station to track down the detective they had talked to previously. He soon found the man still at his desk, shuffling what looked like the same papers he had been when he and Micky had first showed up. Mike grimaced and wondered how exactly this guy caught Baby Face in the first place. Or any other criminals who moved at a pace faster than a slow crawl for that matter.

"Sir," he drawled. "Officer sir. I need to report a missing person."

"Down the hall, third door on the left," the detective said, not even looking up from his paperwork.

"What? Wait, no, you don't understand," Mike said. "I'm looking for Micky Dolenz. You know, the guy who tried to report a beating and who you said looked like this Baby Face character. He should still be here, but I can't find him anywhere. And um, I'm pretty sure I heard gunshots outside earlier. And I'm thinking that somethin' must have happened to him, and we need to find him fast."

"Don't worry about it," the detective said, still not looking up. "Everything's under control."

"Don't, don't worry about it?!" Mike echoed, incredulous. "What do you mean don't worry about it? Didn't you hear anything I just said? My friend's missing and he could be in a lot of trouble."

That finally got a reaction out of the man sitting in front of him. The detective stopped shuffling papers and looked up from his desk.

"Yes, he certainly _is_ in a lot of trouble," the cop said. "That's why I asked for his cooperation in helping us round up Baby Face's gang and getting those jewels back. As long as they're free and the loot is out there, your friend is going to be in a lot of trouble."

"Catching those crooks is your job," Mike said sternly. "Not his."

"That's where you're wrong," the detective said, pointing a finger at him. "It's his job now too."

"What do you mean?" Mike said, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I mean that your friend wised up and saw that it was in his best interests to help us out," the cop responded. "By now, he should be well on his way to Baby Face's usual haunts."

"What?!" Mike fumed, his hands clenching into fists. "You let him go alone?! They're sure to figure out that he's not this Baby Face guy."

"Relax," the detective said, waving his hands off to the side. "We've got this covered. I had your friend do a quick face-to-face with the real Baby Face Morales so he could get the hang of how he talks and acts. Plus, one of my men is following him and keeping an eye out for Baby Face's gang. At a discreet distance, of course."

"Discreet distance," Mike snorted. "So what you're really sayin' is that he's keeping himself hid while Micky takes all the risks. And if somethin' does happen, he might not be able to do anything about it before Micky gets hurt."

"Nothing will happen as long as your friend does his job and remembers what we told him."

"But it's not his job, Mike said again. "Look, you don't understand. You can't send Micky into a situation like that with just a few suggestions and a guy tailing him at a distance. You said yourself that these guys are killers. What do you think will happen if they figure out that he's not Baby Face?"

The cop rose up from his chair and walked out from behind his desk. He continued to act unperturbed and unconcerned and it was making Mike even madder.

"And, and even if he does fool this gang, what then?" the Texan added. "You said that Baby Face has all these enemies. If they think Micky is him what's to stop them from doing to him what they planned to do to Baby Face?"

The detective put a hand onto the center of Mike's back and nudged him toward the exit. Mike was irritated at both the touch and the condescending meaning behind it. Still, he was able to keep those feelings to himself. Just barely.

"Now look, this will all be over before you know it," the detective assured him. "Your friend will help lead us to the goods and then we can round Baby Face's gang up and put them all away for a hundred years, give or take. Then you and your friend can go back to doing whatever it is that you do. So why don't you just go home and wait for us to finish up here?"

The cop patted his back, prompting another glower from Mike. The Texan had serious doubts that it would be that simple and was about to tell him that before he spotted the policeman who had searched him earlier walking up to them.

"Sir," the policeman said to the detective. "We didn't…say, you're still here? Sir, I searched this guy earlier like you asked, but I didn't find anything on him. But if you want, I can…."

"That won't be necessary, Barnett," the detective cut in. "I'll handle it from here. You go ahead and report to McMillan."

"Understood, sir," the officer said before walking away.

Meanwhile, Mike had watched this exchange with annoyed interest. He hadn't wanted to see that policeman again, but was grateful that nothing else happened this time. However, it wasn't long before what was said sank in and Mike's relief turned into rage.

"Hey…wait a minute," Mike said, shrugged the detective's hand away. "He…that was…it was a set-up!"

"Now kid, don't go jumping to any…."

"Don't try to kid me," Mike snarled, narrowing his eyes at him. "You knew that Micky didn't want to go along with your half-baked plan and you knew that he'd listen to me if I told him that we could split and lay low until this was over. So you set that whole thing up: taking my guitar away, having me searched…. You were just buying time so you could come up with some way to convince Micky to do what you wanted. And that, that shooting I heard before, that was the opportunity you were lookin' for. That was for Micky, wasn't it? Or rather that Baby Face guy. So what, so instead of putting him in protective custody, you send him off on this crazy scheme? You didn't even make sure that he was all right after those guys shot at him, did you?"

Throughout all this, Mike's voice continued to rise in volume and hostility. Several other police officers were looking their way, but the Texan ignored their questioning stares. The detective, however, soon went from indifferent dismissal to something far more belligerent.

"Listen here, boy," he said, poking Mike in the chest. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a lot more at stake here than whether or not your friend might have to go through a little unpleasantness. Baby Face's gang is a public menace that needs to be stopped. And the last thing we need around here is some upstart telling us how to do our job."

"Seems to me somebody should," Mike retorted. "'Cause last time I checked, y'all are supposed to be protecting people, not putting them in the line of fire."

Mike backed away and spun on his heel toward the exit.

"And where are you going?" the detective asked him. Mike paused and turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.

"Not that it's any of your business," he said. "But I'm going to go find Micky and make sure he's all right."

"I wouldn't advise that," the cop said with more than a little menace. Mike turned back around to face him.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"If you go rushing after your friend those hoods are bound to figure out that he's not Baby Face. And well, I think we've established what will happen if that comes to pass."

"But what about your man following him?" Mike responded. "He could…."

"Baby Face shot one of my men while we were arresting him," the detective said coolly. "And I'm not going to risk that happening again. Besides, the man we have following him is one of our top undercover guys. He has connections all over this city. That's how he's able to keep an eye on your friend without raising any suspicions. But if you go blundering in there, it could create a situation where his cover could be blown. And I'm not about to let that happen."

Mike glared at him, but remained silent. No matter how he turned it around in his head, the Texan could not find a way to put a stop to this scheme without getting arrested or getting Micky hurt…or worse. He also could tell that the cop was aware of this as well judging from the smug look on the man's face.

"Go home and wait," the detective said. "As soon as we have what we need, we'll send your friend on his way. Then they'll be no reason to involve him further and he'll be safe and sound."

Mike stared at him long and hard. He didn't want to leave it at that, but knew that any other action would accomplish nothing. But that knowledge did nothing to quell the rage inside him. The Texan took one step forward, making sure to look the detective squarely in the eye.

"He better be," he said, his voice cold and venomous.

Despite having an exterior that was hardened by years on the force, the cop took a step back, clearly unnerved by the icy, tightly wound fury that was evident in the Texan's demeanor. For a moment, it looked like he might re-think taking Mike into custody. But Mike turned and stormed out of the room before anything could happen.

Finding the Monkeemobile where he had left it, Mike shoved his guitar into the back seat with a little more force than he would if he had been in a rational state of mind. Then he got behind the wheel and sped off with no particular destination in mind.

After he had driven several miles, Mike pulled into an empty parking lot and turned off the car. For a few minutes, he just sat there, gripping the steering wheel tightly and staring at some unknown point in the distance. Soon his breaths grew ragged and deep as the emotions that were churning inside him welled up toward the surface.

Normally, Mike tried to ignore his feelings whenever possible, especially when they were as intense as this. Mostly, it was because he hated the loss of control that he experienced when they overwhelmed him. It was better to push them down and deny their existence than to allow those emotions to get out where they could quickly get away from him. Thus, he worked hard to suppress the anger and the fear he felt and tried to will them away.

But then the thought of Micky running scared from a hail of bullets and then being thrust into a criminal underworld flooded his brain and it was more than Mike could take.

He bunched his hands into fists and pounded them against the dashboard while his breaths came out in loud desperate gasps. He had no idea how long this fit lasted, but by the end of it, his hands ached and he was struggling to regain control of his breathing. Mike closed his eyes and slumped down in his seat. Eventually, he was able to come back to his senses and breathe normally again.

He then realized that the anger he felt was not solely aimed at the police for callously using Micky for their own ends. Nor was it reserved for Baby Face or his friends and enemies. The fact was, a large portion of this anger was directed at himself. It was anger for not thinking of Micky's safety first and insisting on going to the police even though the drummer didn't want to. Mike could see now that that decision had been more about him getting the satisfaction of someone paying for what happened to Micky than about Micky himself. He had allowed his feelings of rage and of impotency as a leader to guide his actions and now Micky was paying the price for it.

Mike ran a hand over his face and opened his eyes. By now, Peter would be back at the pad and wondering where they were. Even though he truly did not want to face the bassist, Mike felt that Peter deserved to know what was going on.

The Texan sat up and turned the key in the ignition. As terrible as it sounded and felt, all he could do was go home and wait. Wait for a chance to do something to fix this. Wait to see what would happen while he brooded over his mistakes.

Wait to see just how much his mistakes would end up costing him.


End file.
